


Let Go

by alicecoldwater



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, New Relationship sexy times, Porn with Feelings, the fuckening fic drive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:49:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicecoldwater/pseuds/alicecoldwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver and Felicity have some lessons to learn about control and the joy of letting it go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Go

It’s been a particularly rough couple of weeks in the field, slowly tracking and picking off members of a cartel that was moving weapons and drugs through Starling, and eliminating anyone who got in their way. But the team finally got a lucky break and took down the top-level operatives tonight. They’re all in police custody, and there are no immediate threats to rise up and take their place, and that’s about as good as it gets. It’s two in the morning, and Oliver sent Felicity home at one, once the police arrived on-scene.

And what he should do is go home too. Get some sleep. But when he checks his phone back at the foundry, there’s a two-word text in his notifications.

_Coming over?_

And all he can think about is her warm bed, her warm body, and he has no idea what her plans are for the next day, but even if all they have is a few hours to sleep next to each other, he will take it. He sends back a _Yes_ before he can change his mind.

They haven’t been doing this that long—a couple of weeks—and they had this cartel situation, plus he took a previously-scheduled business trip with Thea to meet with some new investors. So in that period, it’s only been eight to ten times, depending on what one defines as “a time.”

Like, does the time they were making out in the foundry until Felicity dragged him into a corner, yanked his zipper down, and gave him the best blow job of his life count? Okay, yes, that counts, and so does the time Oliver brought her off with just a few strokes of his fingers inside of her—thinking this was just the first step, intending to do so much more—but then her phone buzzed and his phone buzzed and they had to shake it off and throw on their clothes and do their jobs.

So, okay, call it ten. Ten glorious, mind-blowing times.

But in truth, whenever he’d let himself imagine starting this with her, he always pictured a lost weekend situation. Just two or three solid days and nights where they would never leave her apartment, or if they had to, then just for coffee or food or wine and the whole time they were in public all he would do is stare at her, remembering her skin flushing where he grabbed it, where he sucked, where his stubble burned her. He would look at her, asking him what he thinks about this bottle of Pinot or whatever, and all he’d be able to think about is her hair fanned across one side of the pillow, eyes closed, pink lips parted and pleading. The longer they were out of the apartment, the more handsy he’d become; no matter how he tried to stay cool, he just would not be able to stop touching her, pulling her closer, breathing in the scent of her hair. And eventually they’d just give up, check out as quickly as possible, and all but run back home to strip off their clothes and find the nearest flat surface. This is how it always went, in his mind.

But.

That is not how things played out, because that is not how their lives work.

Instead, they’ve had partial nights, sometimes followed by days where they can’t be together at all. They’ve stolen moments where they can. And so every time is still like the first time. There’s all this pent-up energy, all this need, driven by days of imagining and remembering and wanting. Every time has been exploratory, explosive. Oliver rediscovers her body, licking here and biting there, barely able to focus enough to remember what she likes for next time. And every time Felicity comes, it’s like the goddamn heavens open up and he becomes consumed by his need to lose himself inside her.

It’s incredible. And it’s not that he’s in a rush to change what is happening here. He just wants to be in control of himself. He wants to do things in a way he hasn’t yet managed because he cannot manage himself at all with her. He is powerless to do anything but respond to the basest instinct.

When he pulls up in front of her townhouse, he sits on the bike with the engine idling for a minute, suddenly feeling guilty and a little embarrassed that he didn’t just tell her he’d see her tomorrow. But then her door opens, and there she is in her pajamas, leaning against the doorframe, head tilted to the side in invitation. And once again powerless, Oliver shuts off the engine, and jumps off the bike.

“What were you doing out there?” Felicity asks, one eyebrow raised, when he gets to the walkway.

He looks down, sheepishly, as he climbs the stairs. “Nothing. Just felt a little selfish, coming here so late.”

“Well, it would have been more selfish not to come,” she says, reaching out a hand for him, “because I was just watching a truly soul-destroying dating show while I was waiting for you, and I definitely would have marathoned the whole thing if you hadn’t shown up. And then I would have hated myself. And humanity in general.”

Oliver laughs and lets her lead him inside. He peels off his jacket and tosses it over the back of the couch, and then pulls her into him, feeling the tension of this night evaporate, pressing his lips into her hair and humming out a long breath.

“Yep,” Felcity murmurs against his chest after a minute. “This hug alone would have been worth staying up for.”

She turns her face up to his and he kisses her, the kind of long, soft kisses he always, always wanted to have with her. He remembers their first, how her lips felt exactly like he thought they would. But in the last few weeks he’s learned that when their kisses turn deeper, when they are truly in the throes, there is a ferocity in her that he could never have imagined. It does something to him that nothing else ever has.

“Hey,” he says, pulling back. “What do you have to do tomorrow?”

Felicity squints at the ceiling, “Tomorrow...Saturday...uh, nothing? I mean, I was thinking about going in to tweak that script I wrote for—”

“No.”

Her eyebrows pop up. “No?”

Oliver shakes his head. “No. We’re staying home. Roy said he'd handle whatever comes in tomorrow, barring anything crazy. So. I’m free. You’re free.” He takes her hands and intertwines their fingers, then begins to walk backward, leading her to her bedroom. “We’re going to take these clothes off,” he says, plucking the strap of her tank top before opening the bedroom door, “and then we’re not going anywhere.”

“Well all right, Mr. Queen,” Felicity smirks. “I find your terms acceptable.”

Oliver smiles at her, smoothing his palms down her arms, and then she blinks a few times, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “I...thought...aren’t you supposed to be taking off your clothes? Or my clothes? My understanding was that there was going to be nudity.”

He inhales, hesitating. “Tomorrow? You’ve been working for 16 hours today, in one capacity or another. You’ve gotta be exhausted. Let’s just sleep tonight.”

Felicity heaves a big sigh. “Fine. But you’re not wearing those pants to bed.” She reaches for the hem of his v-neck and lifts up. “Or this sweater. I will allow the t-shirt and boxers for now.” He grins and pulls the sweater off when it gets too high for her to reach. Maybe a mistake though, because that leaves her hands free, and she gets to work on his belt.

He feels himself twitch as soon as she touches his waistband. And that is ridiculous. It’s two in the morning and they are both worn out and he’s not a kid. But her knuckles brush against his navel as she pulls the tab of his belt out from under the loops, and suddenly he’s sucking in a breath through clenched teeth.

Felicity glances up in surprise at the sound, and a slow smile tugs at her lips when she sees the look on his face. Oliver circles her wrists with his hands, gently removing them from his pants, and clears his throat. “Tomorrow,” he says again, more resolutely this time.

She sighs and lifts her hands in surrender, making her way to her bedside table, setting down her glasses and dimming the lamp. As he undoes his belt and fly, she pulls the elastic out of her hair and shakes it out a little before tossing it to one side and oh god why is that so unspeakably hot? She’s not performing for him, but he was halfway there already, and the simple act of her raising an arm and letting her hair down is enough to get him the rest of the way.

Oliver turns around while he lowers and steps out of his pants, and then he grimaces because yeah, there is just no way to hide what is happening here. But maybe if she’s still facing the other direction, he could just slip in under the blankets and….

When he turns around, Felicity is sitting on top of the comforter, knees pulled up to her chest and she is staring at him. Well, based on the way her eyes quickly flick up, she was actually staring at his ass. But when her eyes flick back down, they widen slightly and her head tips to the side a bit, and she whines, “Oliver…”

He cough-laughs and says, “Seriously, this...doesn’t mean anything has to happen. It’s just...sort of constant right now when I’m around you.”

“But I--” she licks her lips unconsciously, and Jesus Christ the situation in his boxers is becoming actually painful now. “I want something to happen. Like, right now.” She stretches an arm out for him, and he reluctantly moves toward her, sitting on the edge of what is now his side of the bed. “Hey, I’m not tired,” she says brightly, “and we just established that we have nothing to wake up for tomorrow. Except more of this. Or—are _you_ exhausted, because if so I will definitely stop—”

“No...” Oliver starts. But he doesn’t know how to put it in words without screwing up. The truth is that he’s hoping in the morning, he will be more alert, have more energy in him, more control. Because he wants this to be the start of their lost weekend, but he doesn’t want it to start fast and dirty. He wants it to be perfect for her. He wants to spend an hour just teasing her, and then another hour making her come over and over, like they’re trying to break the record. To fuck her senseless, and then while they lie next to each other, completely sated, to start trailing his fingers along her abdomen, down one side of her thigh and back up the other, and slowly, slowly, bring them both back to life. He wants to have some sort of control over himself, over his reactions, so he can do more of this. He wants to be...like he used to be.

What he says is: “I just want more time with you, so I can...so it can...be as good for you as possible.” Felicity's forehead creases a bit, but her face is so warm and open, and Oliver explains further. “I—when I’m with you, I just lose all control.” He gives the slightest wave downward and she quirks a saucy little eyebrow. “We’ve never had the time—the consecutive days of just...this—to kind of—”

“Build up a tolerance?” she asks. He shakes his head, but she waves it off and reaches for his hand. “I know what you’re talking about, but uh...I think I have a slightly different take on this.”

Oliver narrows his eyes in a question, and Felicity continues, “Um, well, first—I hope you’ve noticed that I really—I mean, _really_ —enjoy everything that is happening here. I mean this—and _you_ —and your— _all_ of your...everything—yes. It works for me.”

He can’t help but smile and feel a little flush of pride at that, and she smiles back, “And uh, another thing that really works for me is seeing you like that. A little out of control. I mean, we are both control freaks. So I get it. But you need to know that it feels incredible to me, to see you let go a little bit. To see you give into that.”

Something warm floods Oliver’s chest, and his breathing gets shallow. Felicity looks up at the ceiling and shrugs, “I mean, it’s also pretty flattering, I have to be honest. Selfishly, I like making you lose your mind a little bit.” Then she looks back at him, and the smile drops from her face. “Whoa, Oliver, what’d I say?”

He didn’t know until she said it, and now he’s just overwhelmed by her, and that must be written all over his face. “Nothing,” he breathes. He blinks and starts again; this time his voice is clear and even. “It's just—I was wrong. This isn’t about the timing. I think it’s that I haven’t been able to do that—to let go—before now. I don’t think I ever let that happen.”

Felicity’s eyes soften and she pulls on his hand. He climbs the rest of the way on the bed and next to her. He hovers halfway over her, cupping the side of her face, tangling his fingers in her hair. “So if you’re okay with it, then I’m okay with it and I will stop trying to control...things...here.”

She fixes him with a smile that manages to be prim and sexy at the same time, and nods, “I am super okay with it and for the love of God will you please let me take your clothes off now?”

Oliver smirks and nods, shifting his arm so she can get at his boxer briefs. Felicity peels the waistband over his erection, which is still going strong. She emits a low, satisfied sound as she slides the boxers down his thighs, and looks back up at him with darkened eyes. He pulls them the rest of the way off, and kneels next to her. She sits up a little straighter and grabs the hem of her tank top, but he takes it from her and she lets go. He slides it up her ribcage, over her breasts, and she gets to her knees, slipping her arms out of the straps one at a time. They’re facing each other now, and she takes a breath and pulls at his t-shirt, and between the two of them, it comes off in one quick motion.

Oliver wraps his arms around her, pressing himself against her, feeling her breasts against his ribs, his cock against the curve of her abdomen, her lips leaving a trail of sucking kisses along his neck. Then he smooths his hands down her back, under the waistband of her pants and her—

“Felicity,” he growls.

“What?” she asks, as his hands cup the smooth skin of her incredible ass. “Why would I wear underwear? I had no idea you were going to have all these plans and thoughts and rules tonight. And I had all this time to just think about you, and I was just trying to make things as easy as—” but the rest of her thought disappears in a harsh gasp, as Oliver’s hand slides around the back of her thigh, and he slips a fingertip along her folds and into her. “See?” she breathes. “That’s exactly what I— _mmmmmm-_ mean.”

“Jesus, Felicity…” he murmurs. She is so deliciously wet. “So you were...thinking about me…?”

She grinds lightly against his hand and sighs, and then shakes her head as if to clear it. “Yes...lots of thinking...actively...thinking about you and your voice tonight after you got the jump on those guys. Do you know—” she breaks off as he curves his finger inside of her, “— _mmmmmmy God_ —that sometimes over the comms, if you speak at the perfect pitch or something, your voice just like reverberates, sends these waves like all the way through me…”

Oliver involuntarily groans into her ear and she pants, “Just like that, yes...I mean about the growling in my ear, but _ohhhhhhhh god_ also about what you are doing _yes_ , please, Oliver.”

With the hand that is not otherwise occupied, he pulls at her pants until they’re gathered at her knees. On the way back up, he licks a stripe across the underside of her breast, kissing the inside of it, licking again until he reaches the peak of her nipple, opening his mouth around it, while his finger continues to work inside her. He sucks harder, to the sound of Felicity gasping and cursing, and her hand, which had been kneading at his shoulder, now drops down. She wraps her fingers around his cock, her thumb quickly becoming slick at his tip. Oliver’s breath shudders, and he lets go of her nipple, his voice gravelly when he asks, “What do you want, Felicity?”

Her eyes go wide for a long moment, searching his, and then she shakes her head and says, breathlessly, “Just you inside me, as soon as possible.”

Oliver barely nods, and then twists their bodies as one to lay Felicity back on the bed. He slips her pants the rest of the way off, and she immediately parts her legs for him, and— “Fuck.” Suddenly everything in his field of vision is like a work of art. Felicity, utterly naked and literally spread beneath him. She’s smoothing her hair away from her face, so one arm is angled up on the pillow, framing the shot, drawing his eye back down to her flushed breasts, her pink nipples, one slightly reddened from his attention. Her eyes dark, her face unguarded. “I love you. So much,” he says in a rough whisper.

Felicity nods, “I love you,” and slides her hands up and down his arms to urge him closer. He obliges, settling himself between her legs. Then she simply adjusts the angle of her hips, and his tip is right at her entrance. She tucks one of her heels behind his knee and presses lightly, waiting for him to come the rest of the way in.

He does, pushing gently, taking the time to let her surround him, ease him in. And then he feels her tense around him, and he’s right there again, already. His eyes snap to hers and she has that look too, and he knows it’s not going to be long for either of them. And he is filled with a deep, ecstatic joy. He loves her, and he no longer cares how long or how many times or how many different ways, because this is perfect and the only way to damage is it to try to fix it.

Oliver cups her face, pressing his lips to hers, opening them to her tongue, grinding his hips in time with her. When Felicity moans, he breaks the kiss, bending instead to lick her throat, her pulse point, while she angles herself to take him in deeper. He shudders out a groan, pumping into her with more force, and then he slides his thumb over her lips. She immediately parts them, taking his thumb into her mouth, biting it not-so-gently before he removes it again. He looks at her sideways and she pleads, “I’m so close, Oliver.”

He slips his hand between them until his thumb finds her clit. Felicity’s hips buck into the mattress and she lets out a strained cry. And that’s it; that’s the last moment Oliver can think coherently. He begins thrusting into her faster, with shorter strokes, trying to keep the rhythm on her clit, while her hips grind back into him, her legs going rigid around him. They both lose all track of their breathing and movement and the meaning of words; Felicity is reciting a litany of _Olivers_ and affirmatives and Oliver is panting and cursing right up until the last moment, when she goes silent and he just lets go with a sustained groan and then her name, whispered repeatedly against her neck.

He knows she likes the feeling of him on top of her so he gives himself a minute or two to come back to his senses, for his heart to return to a normal pace. “My God, Oliver,” she whispers. He chuckles a little, nuzzling her ear.

She scratches her fingers through his hair for a minute, and then says, “So you know, earlier...?”

He looks at her. “When?”

Felicity clears her throat. “Uh-hmm, when you...asked me what I wanted?”

Oliver nods and slides halfway off of her, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Well I realized," she says, angling her head so she can see him better, “like right at that moment, that it's...never really been like this for me before. Like...you know how I can get kind of intense and...vocal here?”

He chuckles again and kisses her temple. “I honestly wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

“Actually, that isn’t normal for me.” He tilts his head inquiringly, and she says, “I think maybe I never really let go either. I don’t think I ever just asked for what I wanted, or did what I wanted. Kind of the other side of the coin—you wanted to exert control over yourself, and I never wanted to let anyone else have that kind of control over me. To let them see me that vulnerable. So it was just...not easy to get to that point.”

Felicity looks a little faraway, and Oliver reaches for her hand, tracing circles on her palm before she continues, “And I just realized that I never gave a second thought to being vulnerable with you, or letting you have that kind of...power with me.” She shrugs, and when she looks back up at him, she's smiling contentedly. “I probably couldn’t have held anything back from you, even if I tried.”

Oliver stares into her eyes for a few breaths and tries to think of a way to respond, to make sure she knows that he heard that; that he knows how important it is. But in the end, all he can do is pull her closer and whisper, “Felicity," because that’s what he always says when he gets overwhelmed.

And she just squeezes him back and whispers “Love you,” because she always seems to know what he means.

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspired by the Tumblr Fuckening Fic Drive, and intended to write a tiny little PWP, but then all these feelings happened and then there were just a lot of words. Thanks for reading!


End file.
